


Dancing, Dreams, and the Beginning of Things

by omnenomnom



Series: Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dancing, Daydreaming, Eventual Romance, F/M, References to The Nutcracker, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnenomnom/pseuds/omnenomnom
Summary: His little brother was really an idiot. When a girl goes to the effort to get you a ticket to her ballet you basically have to go. Not that Fred knew much about the Nutcracker... or the ballet in general. Well, at least George had snuck him a snack, even if it was wrapped in an odd purple and orange wrapper.AU: Retelling of the Nutcracker
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Series: Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997851
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41
Collections: Fremione Fanatics 2020 Yule fest





	Dancing, Dreams, and the Beginning of Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> This is a cute little prequel written for Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things written for the Fremione Fanatics Yulefest 2020 challenge. I hope you like it. You can check out it's source material on my personal page. Keep in mind that one is takes a fair swing into Mature territory. 
> 
> Thanks Prettieststar17 for her wonderful beta fic. (On this one and CSOIT, her rapid edits are the only reason it was finished by Christmas.)

Fred groaned into the mirror trying to get his hair to do something respectable. As a general rule he was not one to worry about the judgments of others but this time it was different. He wasn’t even the one Hermione wanted attending. A cop was honorable, respected even. He was just a failed violin prodigy. 

His shaggy hair was getting too long to do the usual, brushed-back style he wore for concerts and while he was generally glad for it, it was really standing in his way tonight.

“Now this is a first,” George said.

Fred scowled as his twin appeared behind him in a pair of loose jeans and an oversized Knicks jersey. It was a stark contrast from Fred’s formal suit and tie. George had shipped his performance clothes back home after they informed Juilliard they were dropping out but Fred kept his, just for tonight.

“What do you mean, my beloved twin?” Fred questioned, too distracted to add the usual humor to his voice. He was staring at the mirror with a scowl.

“You, actually fussing about your appearance. One would think you’re going on a hot date.” George wandered into the room and slapped his twin’s hands away. “You look like you’re trying too hard. Stop it.”

“I just don’t want to embarrass her,” Fred sighed. "It's not supposed to be me."

George smiled, splitting Fred’s hair into a perfect part down the middle, tucking the longer strands behind his ears.

“Well that's ickle Ronnikens fault isn't it? If she gets pissy with you blame him for working... There.” George nodded with a sense of finality. “That's the closest you’re gonna get to high brow without cutting it.”

“I hear the old money Brits still wear their hair long,” Fred added, accepting the style in the mirror.

“Well, we are neither old nor money brother o’ mine. But I’m pretty sure you can still sweep her off her feet.” When he winked Fred rolled his eyes.

“I’m not trying to. I just don’t want the work she put into getting the ticket to go to waste.” 

Fred brushed off his brother’s statement with a wave. Ron may have been oblivious to the trouble she must mad gone to in order to get tickets to the opening performance but Fred was not. Before dropping, his and George’s shows all had sold out within the hours, and Juilliard’s winter Nutcracker performance was legendary. He wasn’t sure who Hermione had to buy off to get a seat for his ingrate of a younger brother, but he was sure that it had cost her something.

“Lie to her, lie to yourself, but don’t lie to your twin,” George responded with a smile, tapping the lapels of Fred's suit lightly. “You look fine. You’ll want to head out now though. Wouldn’t do to show up late.”

Fred smiled in the mirror at his duplicate as George turned towards the door.

“Tell her I say congrats. Oh, come to the kitchen before you go, I got us new coats.”

“Naturally,” Fred responded. He rolled his eyes, sure that his twin had something absolutely outrageous picked out. Ever since going all-in on their punk band, The Last Laugh, Lee had been harping on them to develop an image, something George was more than willing to throw the both of them into with gusto.

Fred could hear Lee and Angelina arguing over the last slice of pizza in the kitchen while George rejoined them. His brother instantly set about practicing his cello, the deep rolling notes carrying through the apartment as he played.

Fred took one look back at the bathroom mirror of their shitty New York apartment. He blinked in confusion when, instead of his own reflection, he was staring at a hill dusted in a thick layer of white snow. A strangely tall and lopsided building that defied the laws of physics teetered in the background.

It reminded him of his family's place upstate, with its many additions and mismatched shingles. But this place seemed to go upwards instead of out and was held together by magic and prayer. Suddenly a strangely familiar bushy head crested the hill through the flurry. 

He almost didn’t recognize her. Hermione had always had a riot of curls but they hadn’t been that messy since Ron first brought her home when Lee and Angelina insisted on the right shampoo and hair care routine. But those baleful brown eyes still held the honey-sweet warmth they always had, even when she was yelling at him and George to practice more.

This Hermione was dressed in a knitted sweater of deep maroon with a golden ‘H’ in the center. She trod through the snow, pointing a stick in front of her and causing the white fluff to leap from her path. Fred watched in amazement as the movie played out in front of him. 

She settled cross-legged in front of his mirror, smiling sadly as she waved the stick around in a wide circle, causing the snow to melt almost instantly.

“Hey, Fred.” He jumped when she spoke, not sure what he was seeing.

“Er…”

“I know it’s early,” she continued, digging in her... bathrobe? for something. “But I didn’t want you to be alone at Christmas.”

Fred didn’t respond, he just watched the girl in front of him pull out a purple and orange wrapped package. He blinked slowly as she set in on the ground in front of her, seemingly close enough to reach out and grab. He was tempted to try until he caught the light sheen in her eyes.

“We miss you a lot. George is a wreck without you, but Angelina is getting him there.” 

He blinked in confusion at the sound of Angelina’s loud laugh as his brother continued to play. The lonely notes of the cello calling it's brother and making his fingers twitch for his violin.

“Christmas wasn’t the same without you. Your mother made your jumper without even realizing that she had done it. It was that dreadful orange and purple combination you've always favored.”

She smiled softly and he wanted to reach out and brush his fingers against her face, if only to assure her that he was fine and that she didn’t need to cry. But just like that, a tear fell down her cheek, catching a flake or two before it dropped down to the ground.

“Well, that’s all,” she whispered, reaching out to run her hand around... something. 

It sent a shiver of dread down his spine. 

“I just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas... And that I hope wherever you found peace you love it there.”

“Hermione….” 

The name slipped from his lips, and she pulled back in confusion. She blinked slowly before reaching out, her fingers pushing against the glass softly.

“Fred?” His name was breathless on her lips, her wide almond eyes shining in the moonlight. 

He reached up, trying to push his calloused fingers against the glass, wanting to touch her. To let her know she didn’t need to cry. Just as his fingers brushed the surface the mirror cracked violently, shattering her into hundreds of Hermione’s with a loud snap before she faded completely. 

Fred yelped, pulling back his hand to suck at the newly bleeding wound. They never had any bandages in this place. He was still rummaging when George spilled through the door, looking around in a panic.

“Fred? You alright? I felt-” 

Fred shook his head, pulling his fingers out of his mouth and glancing at the microscopic cuts welling up with blood.

“Fine,” he responded. “Fucking mirror broke out of nowhere. Piece of shit.” 

Both twins turned toward the mirror, still perfectly attached to the backing but now a spider web of cracks reflecting them back. Fred stared at the mirror images. He cursed that suspicious tin of take-out he had eaten earlier. It smelled fine but clearly had been growing some sort of psychedelic mushroom.

“Weird,” George responded, brushing his finger over the largest piece. “Angelina is gonna be pissed.”

“Fred!” Lee’s voice called from the kitchen. “You left yet? You’re gonna be late!” 

Fred swore, glancing at his phone. He had wanted to pick up flowers from the supermarket for her but now… 

As if on cue his twin pulled up a bouquet of carnations and daisies from behind his back along with a wickedly-cool studded-leather coat.

“I was just coming to make sure you got out of here when I heard you yelp. Gotta get going. She’ll never forgive you if you’re late.”

Fred smiled broadly, slipping the jacket on his thin frame and snatching the flowers. Not what he would have picked for her, she deserved roses and diamonds but of course, as broke as he was, she would just have to take what he could to give.

He jumped out of the kitchen window, waving goodbye to an unsurprised Lee and Angelina as he rocketed down the rickety old fire escape. Angelina always bitched that he was going to fall off it one day but it was the closest exit to the subway.

He slipped onto a train headed to Manhattan, looking out of place with a studded leather jacket over his fitted suit. Not that anyone paid any attention to him, the next car over there was probably a literal clown covered in sequins. 

When the doors opened at his stop he rushed up the stairs and skipped over the slush-covered ground at a dead run. Just as he entered the Peter Jay Sharp Theater the lights dimmed, warning the last few stragglers to find their seats.

“You better get in there,” the small woman behind the coat check suggested, staring dubiously at his jacket. “You got a ticket?”

He dug in the pocket of his slacks pulling out the printed ticket. She took it and scanned it, printing out his receipt, and held her hand out for his coat. He peeled it off, adjusting the lapels of his suit until she cleared her throat.

“I’m supposed to tell you that sweets aren’t allowed,” she said holding out a bright purple and orange wrapper. “But if this was in your pocket and those flowers are for a ballerina I don’t want her being attacked with bad breath. Go find an usher. Go on, get moving.”

He snatched the item and tore off toward the nearest person in all black. The man eyed him dubiously before holding his scanner out for the ticket. When it beeped he whistled lowly in response.

“Oh, center balcony. Who do _you_ know?”

“Er..” Fred stumbled as he followed the man up the stairs, rubbing the back of his head. “Hermione Granger, she-”

“Amazing isn’t she?” the usher agreed instantly. “I’m in the theater program, but the way that woman moves… it’s enough to make a man dream, isn't it?”

They reached the top of the stairs and the usher eyed the slightly crunched flowers in his hand. Fred was suddenly self-conscious and they didn't feel like nearly enough.

“Those for her?”

“Uh… yes. I-”

“I’ll make sure they get there. We don’t allow flowers in house..." The usher said apologetically. "They tend to get thrown on stage. She knows who they are coming from?”

“Er… yeah. Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

“Weasley. Got it. I'll add it to the card.” The man took the bouquet just as the lights began to lower. He gestured to a seat towards the center. “Good luck my man. Hope she likes them.”

“Yeah me too,” Fred muttered, making his way to his seat. 

The people around him grumbled and he was glad the highbrow penguins were all too ancient to make out his signature red hair. He would hate to be recognized and steal her spotlight tonight. 

Remembering the small candy George had snuck in his pocket he smiled at his twin just as the stage lights came up. He popped the small treat into his mouth and the flavor of peaches and cream melted on his tongue.

He watched as the lights dim and the curtain rose. His eyes found her familiar curls and bright almond eyes instantly. She was tucked in the back, dancing the March and waiting to emerge from the crowd. He sighed softly, happy he had managed to make it in time. Such a sweet girl. He hadn’t wanted to let her down. 

His eyes drifted shut, just as the music started.

00000000000000

When his eyes opened he was floating watching a beautiful Christmas scene play out in front of him as Hermione danced. 

There was no better Clara. Hermione looked adorable in her flowing white dress and slippers; a picture of childhood innocence. She was grace and beauty incarnate as she spun, absorbed in a large wooden nutcracker that the Grandfather character had given her.

One of the things Fred admired so much about her was her dedication. On nights where he and George would have recitals at the school, he would sometimes slip away after the show to watch her practice in the ballet studio long past when everyone else had gone home. She was committed to her art and it was obvious in every move that she made.

A male danseur pulls on the nutcracker and tore away it’s arm, leaving Hermione to collapse gracefully in anguish. Her grandfather shuffled her to bed, fake tears glittering down her cheeks even as he tucked her in.

The stage fell quiet and Fred finally realized he was no longer in the balcony, he had been so absorbed in watching her dance he had missed it completely. Before he could react, a clock chimed midnight and Hermione woke, fluttering toward the Christmas tree where the broken Nutcracker awaited.

When the clock chimed twelve, he experienced a strange pulling sensation at his navel sending him spiraling toward the stage. Just as his feet tapped the ground, the world around him blurred and he found himself lying in an elegant room, with a crackling fire. The furniture was massive and the tree towered over everything hundreds of feet high. It took him a moment to realize that he had apparently shrunk. He blinked in confusion. 

Suddenly, there was movement. As if waking up from a long nap Hermione rose from the mountain of presents, her cheeks red and hair curled into perfect ringlets.

“Hermione?” he questioned. He blinked at her, completely unable to move. 

“Fred?” she questioned, fluttering over him on her tiptoes. “What are you doing here?” 

“Beats me. I can’t move.” He pulled at his arms dramatically to demonstrate but remained stiff as a board against the bed.

“Why are you dressed-”

Hermione cut herself off as dark music rose around them. His eyes darted around the room, trying to track a flash of movement before it disappeared. Hermione’s face screwed up in confusion as she danced toward the tree with long strides. He was momentarily distracted by the beauty of her legs.

She screamed just as the music trilled. Suddenly, lion-sized rats burst from the shadows of the tree, their coats mangy and teeth gleaming.

“Holy shit!” Fred tried to scramble up from the bed only to find himself still petrified. “What in the hell is going on!?!”

Hermione danced away in a panic, chased by the largest rodent he had ever seen. An impressive statement considering they lived in New York City. Some of those assholes could get as big as a cat.

“Are you insane? Stop dancing and run!” he screamed.

“I can’t!” she cried, leaping in a perfectly choreographed move just as a rat jumped at where she had been standing. "Help me!"

She spun around the stage until she was cornered, cowering in the face of an overgrown beast. Before he could try to wrench free again an alarmingly convincing army of gingerbread men jumped down from the Christmas tree. The relief was short lied as more rats joined the first, seemingly leaking from every dark nook in the room.

He blinked as candy canes became swords, the cookiemens' gumdrop smiles becoming battle-worn scowls. They leapt at the rats, swinging their peppermint weapons even as they lost limbs and lives when the rodents returned their attacks in a fury.

“What in the actual fuck?!?” Fred swore as the rats destroyed the cookies in a cinnamon and sugar scented blood bath. Hermione spun away trying to avoid the fight as cookie crumbs rained down into her hair.

That was it. Lee definitely had been growing some mushrooms or something in the fridge and this was just the worst trip anyone has ever had.

Fred yelped when a multitude of giant toy soldiers appeared behind him and his limbs released. He shot up, stumbling unevenly as his right arm gave out. It was disconcerting to look at the odd way it just listed to the side. Like it was broken. 

Suddenly a gaggle of dolls appeared, carrying the wounded gingerbread men off the battlefield or dragging them into the shadows. A red headed ragdoll (that bore a striking resemblance to Ginny oddly enough) ran her cloth hands over his arm and he felt something snap back into place.

“Fred! Help!” 

He spun toward Hermione’s call finding her cornered on top of a bed kicking at the rats as they tried to grab her. He stood quickly, glancing down at his change of clothing. He was wearing a navy suit with gold trappings and shiny rubber boots. A sword was slung across his hip and he grabbed it with hands now sheathed in white gloves. His brain picked up the pieces immediately.

“Holy hell, I’m the Nutcracker.”

“Fred!” Hermione screamed again, landing a wide kick on a rat’s muzzle as she spun. "Today please!"

“I’m coming, hold on!” He tried desperately to remember how the next scene went. Pulling his sword he turned to the frozen tin soldiers behind him, their weapons held tightly to their shoulder.

“Well! Get moving men!” The painted eyes continued to stare forward lifeless.

Fred’s cry drew the attention of a nearby rodent. It came scurrying at him and he yelped as he slashed the sword awkwardly through the air. The rat lunged forward as his swing missed, sending him into a tucked roll to avoid it.

“Stab it, you idiot!” Hermione screeched as she jumped for a lower branch of the Christmas tree just as the rats overtook the bed.

“Very helpful Hermione. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You have a sword, use it!”

“What makes you think I know how to use a sword?” he spat slashing at the rat as it hissed. 

He cried victorious at the small red stripe that appeared on the rat’s haunches before he felt the weight in his hand shift. He blinked as his sword was replaced with… a stick. He was now holding a stick with what looked like a pinecone attached to the handle.

“Is that a stick? What the fuck, Fred?” Hermione cried as she swung, pulling herself onto the branch just as the rat’s swarmed the trunk of the tree. “What did you do with your sword?”

“I don’t freaking know! You think I have one damn clue what is going on?”

Hermione jumped for an ornament of a bell, the sound tinkling gently as she swung.

“Well you better figure it out before we get eaten!” She kicked a round glass ornament off it’s hook sending it crashing onto a rodent below that appeared to expire with a squeal.

Turning back to his attacker he dodged the beast flying through the air and swiped at the creature with his stick. Maybe if he caught it in the eye he could-

Fred yelped as a streak of bright red shot out from the tip. The rat stiffened for a moment before falling in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“I did it!” he cried, overjoyed with his victory.

“That’s great, Fred. A bit of help would be nice though.”

Hermione was on a distant branch, swinging a lit candle at the encroaching rats as they gnashed their teeth at her.

“Right sorry!” He flicked his stick at the beast nearest to her, sending it tumbling from the branch in a heap. There were too many. Even if he could make the magic stick work they needed more bodies, if only to even out the numbers. He turned to the toy soldiers lining the wall and looked down at the wood… wand. It was a magic wand. Which means there was a spell.

“Move! Go! Fight!” He flicked his wrist desperately at the tin men, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded when Hermione screamed. “Alakazam! Open sesame! Animato mister roboto!”

“Fred!” Hermione hissed.

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder!”

“Movo! Animo! Locomoto!” 

One of those did it and a near-invisible lance of air slammed into the soldiers. Slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep, they pulled to life just as Hermione screeched. 

“Go!" Fred commanded. "Attack the rats. Defend us!”

The soldiers took one step as a collective unit. The loud thunk shook the floor and the nearby rats chasing Hermione froze, their black eyes focusing on the tin men. 

Hermione took the opportunity to leap gracefully through the air to land on the bed in a heap. Enraged with the escape of their prey, the rats swarmed down the tree into the waiting front lines of toy soldiers. Fred swore as he jumped into the fray, shooting off his weird red spell at anything that was furry and moved. It looked like they were turning the tide when Hermione screamed.

Fred shot down the hissing creature in front of him and turned to the source. His eyes widened as he took in the massive rat in a crown, holding Hermione’s wrist in one paw and baring its teeth at her. 

The Rat King… shit he has to kill that, didn’t he?

Fred groaned but leapt into action, snatching at a nearby rodent on its way to the king. He threw himself on its back with a swear, twisting the greasy fur in his hands. He waited until the creature brought him close enough before mercilessly shooting a beam of light between it’s shoulder blade. He jumped off as his impromptu mount skidded to a stop.

“Rat King!” he shouted, just as the overgrown groundhog’s teeth were about to close around Hermione’s head. It turned with a hiss, eyes alight with rage as it faced him. 

“Looking for me?” he questioned, planting his feet and brandishing his wand confidently.

The royal rodent dropped her with a chattering hiss, swiping at Fred with his claws. Fred jumped away in a spinning leap more graceful than he had ever felt in his life.

“Why are you dancing with it?” Hermione screamed as he twisted away from another blow. “Kill it!”

“Do you know any magic spells?” he shouted, shooting his red light at the Rat king’s chest only for it to have no effect. “If so I would love to hear them!”

He ducked under a flying lunge and spun back, slashing a thin red line across a flea bitten ear. God, he hoped they weren’t normal fleas. Angelina would kill him if he brought those back into the apartment. Well… if he didn’t die before then.

“I tried to summon a demon when I was six," Hermione shouted hopefully. "The book said something about intent!”

“A demon?” Fred questioned as he released a wild slash thinking of fire. A glowing red whip appeared from the tip of his wand to strike at the rat for a moment before disappearing.

“I _really_ wanted to be a ballerina, okay?”

Hermione yelped as she kicked away another rat minion. Fred glanced back at his soldiers, they were slowly falling and it looked like the rats would win. The Rat King’s tail caught Fred as he spun, lashing against the back of his knees and pulling them out from under him.

He crashed to the ground with a swear. The King loomed over him, Fred’s arm and wand pinned under one giant paw as dripping teeth hung over his neck. He was going to die via an overgrown sewer mole before he was twenty three. How embarrassing. 

Fred was arranging his mental will when a delicate pearl coated shoe smacked into the Rat King’s teeth. The monarchical mouse took exception to this and hissed at the now uni-shoed ballerina heaving on the bed with wild hair and flushed cheeks. Had they not been in mortal peril at that very moment, Fred would have taken a moment to fully appreciate the sight.

With the pressure on his arm released, he quickly raised his wand and pointed it at the Rat King’s chest. Focus… intent. 

“Abracadabra!”

There was a flash of green and the rat stiffened before falling to the side with a crash. He stared at the creature's glassy eyes as the crown came to rest between the two of them. The pitched sounds of battle stopped, the music fading to something soft as Fred dragged himself from under the pile of mange and fur. 

As a last minute thought he picked up the crown and limped his way over to Hermione, his stick gripped tightly in his hand as rats scurried back to the shadows, dragging their dead king with them.

“You alright?” he questioned settling next to her on the bed where she had collapsed onto her knees. Her muscles shook violently and it occurred to him how difficult all those beautiful little movements must have been, especially in the middle of a pitched battle.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, leaning against him as she panted. “What about you?”

“Alright. Arm’s a bit sore and I think I may be made of wood, which is odd.” He frowned and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her tightly to his body as the room blurred to black.

“Fred?” she questioned. “Why are we in a real life version of The Nutcracker?”

He paused the small circles he was drawing on her skin as he tried to form an answer that would result in him keeping his balls attached to his body.

“I may have been accidentally dosed with shrooms and I am pretty sure you are just a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh,” she breathed, leaning into his touch. “Well, that’s a relief.”

He moved his other hand to trace up her neck and bury it into her hair as he looked down at her. God, her eyes were beautiful. They were a deep mahogany brown with little spikes of black that rimmed her pupil like a negative sunburst. It pulled at his heart, drawing very inappropriate feelings… but then again...it was a hallucination right?

“What’s next?” he asked, focusing on the soft bow of her perfectly pink lips.

“A Pine Forest in Winter.” The bottom lip tucked loosely in her teeth for a moment, distracting him before she spoke again. “It’s my favorite part.”

As if she cast a spell, the world around them faded back in. The bed was perched in a meadow surrounded by pine trees, their boughs thick with snow and the stars twinkling above them. Moonlight fell down on them like rain as music swelled through the air around them.

“What do we do?” Fred asked, sliding his hand down to hers.

She stood up, pulling him as she went. 

“We dance.”

When his feet hit the snow he didn’t sink. They seemingly floated on the surface as she guided him to the center of the clearing.

“I don’t know how to-”

“It’s your hallucination Fred. You can figure it out,” she chided, turning her back to him and guiding his hands to her waist. 

He felt a shiver of warmth roll over them and watched in amazement as Hermione’s night dress changed into a beautiful crystal dancing gown. He became aware of his own outfit changing and a weight on his head that was probably a crown. But all he saw was the way her curls cascaded down her back in a riot of warm silk.

She was right. She was always right. 

Fred moved the two of them to the flow of the gentle strings, unable to even focus on the violin as he usually did. Her eyes lit with a beautiful gleam that caught the moonlight as he lifted her into the air and spun her. Hermione hands were soft on his shoulders as she moved around him on delicate tip toes. She would grab his hand for balance one moment, then spin away the next. The light reflecting off of her costume was nothing in comparison to the glow of her smile.

As the music wound down he became aware of movement out the corner of his eyes. Likely breaking the choreography, he pulled her tightly against him, relishing the feel of her body on his.

“That would be the snowflakes, coming to guide us to your kingdom,” she murmured staring up at him in open adoration. Good Lord he wished he could bottle that look and keep it close to his chest for the rest of time. If there was one thing he could take from this experience, it was that he was apparently one hell of a romantic.

“You look stunning in the moonlight,” he whispered because it wasn’t real and he could. “I could fall in love with how you smile.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Still her cheeks bloomed with red and her eyes shone with something a bit too soft to be humor.

As promised the snowflake fairies, with their blue tinged skin, appeared on transparent wings. They led Fred and Hermione forward through the trees, bouncing along as the music swelled and drifted. The dark path led through the forest until Fred and Hermione found themselves suddenly staring at a gingerbread castle. 

Hermione led him to the door, her eyes sparking with delight as they opened the portal to a riot of color and sugar. Spun sugar clouds floated near the ceiling where candy cane rafters held chandeliers made of blown sugar orbs. The walls were plastered in chocolate with flecks of gold scattered among the icing and gumdrops in a detailed sugar fresco that had his teeth itching. He was thoroughly impressed at the creativity of his imagination.

“You have returned.” 

The tinkling voice drifted through the air. Unexpectedly, a dour woman, with a heavy Scottish brogue, was sitting on a throne made of taffy and rock candy, surrounded by an assortment of fairies and creatures.

“He has,” Hermione answered, dipping low in a curtsy.

“I am the Sugar Plum Fairy,” the woman said. Fred tried not to laugh at the title attached to the ridiculously stern woman as she eyed him distastefully. “Where have you been?”

He remained silent until Hermione nudged him.

“Oh, right, sorry. Uh, I was- we were in a living room and then some rats attacked. I killed a giant one, thanks to Hermione’s shoe, and then we danced through a forest.”

“Eloquent.” The stern woman scowled. “Still, your return is to be celebrated. We shall honor your guest as well, for bringing the Prince-” She looked like she had to physically choke out the title. “ -home.”

The Sugar Plum Fairy clapped and the room filled with tables of treats and dancing couples. Hermione stared in awe at the beauty around them before pulling him into a dance with a wild laugh. Music from all over the world rushed around them as guests danced and leapt with expert grace. He guided Hermione around the room with the best of them, her tinkling laugh making its own kind of magic. Every time a new song began she looked at him hopefully and he just couldn’t say no. He’d give her anything she wanted when her eyes sparkled like that. 

They danced until his feet felt like they were going to fall off, then ate until they were sick. As the night drew to a close it was time to say goodbye.

The Sour Plum Fairy (as Fred had come to think of her) guided them to a beautiful crystal sugar sleigh, drawn by pure white horses, and wrapped them in furs. She bid them goodnight and returned to the steps of the castle where the rest of the guests waved them off.

The sleigh pulled away with a lurch, Hermione melting into his side as it carried them off to God-knows-where. He looked up at the moon, wondering if he could figure out a way to never wake up. No wonder people became addicted to drugs. This is almost better than real life.

Sensing the final bars of the ballet, he tilted up the sleeping Hermione’s chin, smiling down at her sugar coated lips. Allowing himself this one weakness, he pressed his own against hers and swiped his tongue across the tender flesh. She tasted of peaches and summer.

000000000000000000000000000000000

Fred jerked to awareness to the sound of uproarious applause. He rose to his feet with the others clapping his hands on instinct. Lord knows he had fallen asleep in enough concerts in his lifetime to know how to fake it. Still, when he saw the curtain dropping and Hermione and Malfoy being carried off stage in a bright red Sleigh he couldn’t help but taste the hint of peaches still on his tongue.

“She was wonderful wasn’t she?” the old man next to him asked as they waited for the curtain call.

“What?” Fred questioned dumbly. He was still trying to figure out what in the hell had happened. Had it all truly been a dream?

“Young Miss Granger, of course,” the old man clarified with a kind smile. His beard was too long to be respectable and with the pure white color he was a remarkable impression of Santa Clause. His eyes twinkled softly in the rising lights of the theater.

“You stared at her the whole time. I don’t even think you saw the rest of the ballet.”

“Oh…” Fred blushed. He hoped he hadn’t drooled or something equally as perverted. “Well I-”

“She is going to be something amazing. You just wait.”

Fred just nodded, joining the rest of the crowd in a second round of applause for the curtain call. As the night wound down and people flocked to the door, the old man gestured to an almost hidden staircase with a glance. Still somewhat dazed, Fred followed without complaint and found himself released into the orchestra pit with the other musicians. 

Having spent enough time in these things he allowed himself to sink back into the façade of master violinist as he picked his way through the scattered musicians. No one so much as gave him a second glance when he slipped backstage, intent on surprising her. 

Fred froze when he found her, her arms thrown around Malfoy’s hips with one foot planted flat on the floor and the other pointed straight up and propped against his shoulder, his hands wrapped around her ankle.

“Not bad tonight Granger,” the blond drawled. Fred shoved down the lance of jealousy and ducked behind the curtain. “You were almost believable as you thundered about the stage. Did someone drug you?”

“Nope,” she hummed as he released her leg, switching it out for the other. “There was just magic in the air tonight. Couldn’t you feel it?”

“What romantic garbage,” Malfoy scoffed. “I _feel_ like I want to go find Pansy and blow off the frustration of having to watch you plod around like a new born gazelle.”

“You two are disgusting. Just break up or get married and save us all the hassle of having to listen to you complain.” 

Hermione lowered her legs to a stand. Fred was about to approach when a black-clad stagehand appeared with Fred’s bouquet of flowers. He flushed when Malfoy sneered at them but Hermione visibly melted, inhaling the cheaply perfumed blooms deeply. Malfoy snatched at the card and rolled his eyes. Fred hoped that George had written something respectable.

“Weasley? Christ. The man may get shot tomorrow and he couldn’t even spring for roses? Lilies at least?”

“Lay off Ron,” Hermione snapped, running her fingers across the petals lightly. “I love daisies.”

“He knows nothing of wooing women,” Malfoy shot, stretching his own legs against the wall.

“We’re just friends. There _is_ no wooing.”

Still she smiled at the card before a door opened to their right. Light flooded out with an influx of noise. Girls chattered wildly as they changed and a few slipped out and headed Fred’s direction. He turned away from the beautiful, curly-haired ballerina, still trying to sort through the night in his mind as he slipped away with the rest of the orchestra. He made it all the way to the subway before he realized he had forgotten his coat.

00000000000000000000000000000

He regretted not playing her song that day in the courtyard, the one he couldn’t get out of his head until his fingers had mastered the strings. The one that brought back the memory of winter and pine trees no matter where he played it.

Sure, he hadn’t known that she would be there but he should have right? He couldn’t get Hermione off his mind and she danced through his dreams as much as his waking moments. But that night he spent drinking cheap wine and hiding from the sleet would always hold something special in his heart so he couldn’t be too upset with the outcome. Even if it was all he would ever get.

It was only as he slipped away from the groupies to the secret balcony on the fourth floor of the Rookery that he realized why he had been searching for her in the crowd all night. She stood there against the backdrop of the city, watching him with an amused smile and a sugary pink drink in her hand. He wondered if it made her lips taste sweet. 

Throughout their conversation, he knew what was happening. He couldn’t push it away even if he wanted to. There was magic that night and she felt it too, even if she didn’t know why. He didn’t know what was in that sweet or how it had happened but when he felt his lips on hers he knew it hadn’t totally been a dream. She felt exactly the same as he remembered and he could almost imagine the flavor of peaches rolling against his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you liked this check out it's predecessor Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible things.
> 
> If you are here after reading CSOIT, Hello again! Here is some fluff to sooth your battered soul. Also say hi so I know who you are!


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